


Happiness in Exchange

by rufeepeach



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Court AU, F/M, Rumbelle Christmas in July, rcij, vicbourne au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 01:10:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11589924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: When Belle ascends to the throne of Avonlea after her father's death, shocks the court when she appoints the mysterious Lord Gold, the new owner of half her lands, as her Chancellor. Alone in a realm of strangers, finding themselves united against a common enemy, an unlikely partnership is born. But with everyone waiting for the Princess to marry, Belle has a choice to make: to fight to rule alone, or to find a partner who can meet her halfway.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JunoInferno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JunoInferno/gifts).



> My RCJI gift to my lovely giftee junoinferno - I'm sorry for being such an absent Santa! I loved your prompt - I hope you like the twist I brought to it! 
> 
> The prompt was: Melbourne Victoria ITV AU, this is meant to be a (very very loose) Vicbourne AU :D

“Presenting, for the first time: Her Royal Highness, Belle, Princess of Avonlea!”

The announcer’s voice rang out through the ballroom, and Belle took a confident step forward, out of the shadows and into the light. The metaphor was not lost on her, as she blinked out at a sea of strange, unfamiliar faces staring back. They were applauding, cheering, but how could they not? She was their ruler now, their young, completely unexpected ruler. For all they knew she would hold public executions for dissenters.

Belle took two more steps forward, once the applause had died down, and came to the top of the staircase. She gave a deep curtsey, and descended slowly, allowing everyone to look their fill. Her skin crawled. Belle hadn’t been the centre of attention this way since her betrothal ball, over a decade ago. Then, they had eyed her ten-year-old body seeking signs of fertility, deciding whether Lord and Lady Gaston had made the right choice for their son. 

Now, there were bigger questions to ask: did this girl-child, barely out of her teens, a stranger in her own castle, have the mental and physical capacity to rule Avonlea? Had the realm made the right choice, allowing her to take the throne?

She had been away from home for nearly a decade, sent to live with her betrothed and his family when the ogre war broke out once more. She might never have returned had her father not died suddenly, leaving Belle as his only heir. So much had changed since then. She barely knew most of the faces staring back at her; they certainly did not know her. 

She had left Avonlea a scared child, missing her parents: she returned an adult, and an orphan. 

Belle tried not to shake under their scrutiny. She was glad of a familiar face to greet her at the foot of the stairs. She hadn’t seen Ruby since they were children: she almost didn’t recognise the beautiful, willowy young woman as Avonlea’s ten-year-old tree-climbing champion. That was until Ruby smiled, and suddenly they were children again, and for a moment she forgot her self-consciousness in how happy she was to see her oldest friend. 

“Your highness!” Ruby hugged her tight, “Welcome home!”

“It’s good to be home,” Belle grinned, remembering her manners only a moment later and pulling back. “I missed the sea.”

“The mountains always look so gloomy,” Ruby said. Her eyes turned grave and serious for a moment, “I am so sorry about your father, your highness. He was a great leader, and we all mourn him.”

There were respectful nods from the crowd, the people listening who weren’t polite enough to pretend not to. Belle swallowed, hard.

“He died on horseback,” she said, the answer she had prepared for this inevitable moment. “The stag in his sights. It is how he would have wanted to end, if he’d been asked.”

“He’ll be remembered a hero, your highness,” Lady Lucas assured her, warmly. She squeezed Belle’s hand. Belle wished for a moment that she was a child again, and able to grab Ruby’s hand and run away to the kitchens to steal sweet rolls, unmissed by the court. Back then no one called her ‘your highness’. But back then, everyone had expected a male heir, and for Maurice’s bookish daughter to never have a chance at the throne.

“Thank you, Ru- Lady Lucas,” Belle said, remembering herself. “Your kindness means the world, as it always has.”

Ruby smiled, and leaned in close, “If you need anything just let me know.” Belle nodded. “It’s so good to have you home, Belles!”

“What do I do now?” she asked, under her breath. “I don’t like them all staring at me.”

“Music,” Ruby advised, after a moment. “Call for music.”

Belle smiled, and stepped back, and did just that. The crowd cheered, the dances began anew, and music replaced the hush that had fallen over the room. 

Ruby took Belle’s arm, and led her around the ballroom slowly, introducing her to old friends and new additions to the court, in particular her father’s favourites. She met young Lady Snow and her husband James; General Fa and his daughter Mulan, poised to take his place upon his retirement; Lord George, Belle’s father’s closest confidante, and his wife, who were James’ parents; it seemed Ruby knew everyone. 

However, despite how often they veered close to him, there was a man Belle didn’t recognise, whom Ruby never seemed to introduce. He was slight, older, a distinctive gold-topped cane in his hand, and dressed in darker fabrics than any other man present. In a year when bright emeralds and rich blues were the fashion, the stranger’s blacks and browns made him a shadow in a sea of colour. A shadow Ruby seemed to be going out of her way to avoid. 

He didn’t speak to anyone, she noticed, even while she spoke to everyone. She discussed the latest routing of the ogres’ forces in the Frontlands with General Fa, and crop rotations with Freeman Leroy and his wife; she discussed the formation of a new High Council with Lord George, who hinted heavily at his desire for a seat, and the latest dances with Lady Snow. But every now and then, her eyes strayed back to that slight, dark figure circling the outer rim of every conversation, never saying a word. 

“Hey,” Belle said, when there was at last a lull in their meetings, “Who is that?”

“Who is who, your highness?” Ruby asked, and Belle rolled her eyes.

“Him!” she said, gesturing as discreetly as she could to the man in question, who was glowering over a goblet of wine. Ruby’s eyes flicked to where she had pointed, and she sighed.

“He’s no one,” Ruby said, brusquely. “Definitely no one worth talking to, anyway.”

“Then why is he here?” Belle asked. “This is an affair of state, surely we’re not allowing in total strangers!”

“He’s here because he owns half the land,” Ruby told her. “So he gets an invite so he won’t make trouble. We all pretend he isn’t here, he leaves early, it all works out.”

“If he owns half the realm then he’s someone I should know,” Belle argued. “If he’s that important.”

“You shouldn’t have to put up with him,” Ruby insisted. “He’s rude, and an upstart, and he and your dad hated each other.”

“At least let me know his name, so I’ll know it when I hear it?” Belle asked. Ruby sighed, and relented. “Who is that?”

“His name is Lord Gold,” Ruby sighed, reluctantly. “Ugh, Granny made me swear I wouldn’t let you near him.”

“Lord Gold,” Belle repeated, nodding. It suited him. “So he just came from nowhere, and bought half the land?”

“You know the law,” Ruby said, “Technically the throne owns all of Avonlea. But apparently Sir Maurice granted him a thousand-year lease, so he’s as good as bought it outright. Half your people are his tenants.” 

“I see,” Belle murmured. “Well, thank you. That’s very helpful.”

“Any time,” Ruby replied, smiling, apparently relieved the topic of Lord Gold had been dropped. She was about to speak again, but she was interrupted by a tall, dark, handsome young man with a warm smile, who tapped her on her shoulder.

“Excuse me, your highness,” he said. “May I steal Lady Lucas for a dance?”

“Billy!” Ruby swatted his arm, “I’m in the middle of introducing her highness to everyone Granny thinks she needs to know.”

“Billy?” Belle blinked at him, trying to reconcile this dashing young man with the round little boy who’d followed them around as children. “Sir William Gustav, Is that you?”

“Your highness,” Billy grinned, and bowed. “It’s great to have you back at court.”

“And you’re dancing with Ruby now,” Belle turned to Ruby, and raised an eyebrow. “Anything your Princess should know about?” she asked. 

“Bil-Sir William is a really great dancer,” Ruby said, defensively.

“I’m sure he is,” Belle laughed. “It’s okay, Billy, you’re welcome to steal her. I’m just going to do a lap on my own, I think.”

“Come grab me if you need me!” Ruby cried, as Billy gratefully tugged her away toward the dance floor. Belle watched with amusement, and wondered how long it would be before there was another ball, celebrating their engagement.

Her absence, Belle had to admit, was welcome. It gave Belle a chance to step back, out of the crowd, and into a darker part of the room. Belle had never been a fan of crowds, and had known her coronation ball would be a trial. She promised she would return to the festivities soon. She’d just always felt more at home leaning against a wall, watching the dancers, than she had participating. The stone was cool, unyielding, ever lasting. For a moment, she’d never gone away, and nothing had changed. Her father would scold her for her shyness; her mother would spirit her away to the library under the guise of bedtime. The music from the party would lull her to sleep late into the night, safe and warm. 

“Your highness,” a low murmur, softly accented, broke through her reverie. She glanced sidelong at the interloper, and found herself staring into the intense dark eyes of Lord Gold himself.

“Your lordship,” she said, politely. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Are you?” Gold countered. Belle didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I… yes, of course I am,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“In my experience, young women who enjoy parties don’t tend to hide in corners.”

“I am not hiding,” she said, hotly. “You forget yourself, sir.”

Lord Gold laughed, a low chuckle that reverberated in Belle’s bones. “I assure you, forgetting myself is not in my nature,” he said. Something about the way he said it made something coil in the pit of Belle’s stomach.

“You forget your manners, then,” she retaliated. He eyed her.

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But then, I hate these sorts of gatherings, and the sorts of people who attend them.”

Something about his intense gaze and his peremptory manner set Belle’s teeth on edge, and she heard herself retorting, “You attended, did you not, sir?”

“I did,” he said. “I was curious about you, I admit.”

“Dare I ask your first impression?”

He smiled, thinly. “You’re a decent public speaker,” he said, after a moment, “Beautiful enough, smiling, approachable, but insubstantial. Your remarks are over-rehearsed, and empty. Better than your father, who didn’t believe in thinking at all before he spoke, but the fact remains. You have been trained in courtly manners, I suppose, and your manners are really very pretty. Hardly your fault all that dancing and curtseying crowds the brain.”

Belle’s face flushed red, then paled, then flushed again. She didn’t think she’d ever been angrier in her life. For a moment, she wanted to slap the smirk right off his handsome face, or maybe land a sharp knee to his groin. She’d gotten rather good at that, fending off he former betrothed’s advances. 

Then, for just a second, she saw the flash of challenge in his eyes, the gleam that begged her to retaliate. He was curious about her, he’d said. Perhaps this was a test. 

“You are Lord Gold?” She asked, as if she didn’t already know. He nodded. ”You’ve bought up my father’s land, I hear,” she said. He inclined his head again, ineffably elegant with his heels aligned and his cane between his feet.

“You hear correctly.”

“Then I expect the leases to be brought to my steward within three days,” she said, pulling herself up to her full, unimpressive height. “I wish to review the terms.”

A flash of surprise crossed Lord Gold’s face. “Whatever for?” he asked, as if the concept mystified him. Belle smiled.

“As you so astutely noted, Lord Gold, my late father often acted before thinking. I worry now that you may well have ensnared him in deals he did not understand. Given that the land is rightfully mine, I will need to review all contracts pertaining to it before I continue any on-going relationships. If they are not to my liking, I am sure you will be reasonable enough to negotiate.”

“My contracts are airtight, your highness,” he assured her. She smiled.

“Then I’m certain we won’t have a problem,” she said. “I look forward to discussing them in due course. Lord Gold,” she curtseyed deeply, and grinned as she came up. He inclined his head, and looked a little lost for words, his bow automatic and stiff. Belle didn’t think she’d ever felt happier.

“Still curious?” she asked, softly. She didn’t know what made her do it, but something about his dumbstruck face made her mischievous.

“Immensely,” he admitted. Something like electricity ran down Belle’s spine. 

She swallowed hard, and walked back toward the crowd, leaving Lord Gold at home in the shadows.


	2. Chapter 2

Belle had never seen such complex, well-drafted leases.

She had begun her perusal certain she would find egregious demands and unfair terms, loopholes large enough to ride elephants through. She had intended to find a way to discredit Lord Gold, and force him to renegotiate. If he intended to remain a permanent tenant, with controlling interests over two-thirds of her farmlands and most of the forest, they had to work together. 

But the more she read the more those hopes died. Gold had been ruthlessly thorough: every contingency was planned for, every loophole efficiently plugged. The more Belle read through the pages of agreements, the more she realised where the real power in Avonlea had sat, since the end of the war that had taken her mother and ravaged the land. Her father had, in all likelihood, been the puppet of Lord Gold – who ran the countryside – and Lord George – who ran the city. 

Lord George’s family had held controlling interests in Avonlea’s only city for generations: it was a hereditary right, and one no Princess could hope to sever. The country had always been the counterbalance, the seat of true loyalty and wealth in Avonlea, controlled by the throne. Gold’s intervention threw off that balance. 

Belle couldn’t imagine, no matter how huge the sum of money Gold offered, why her father would have agreed to sign away half his realm. There was something she was missing, something to make sense of all of this.

Had the money been enough to turn the tide of the ogre war? Belle had been kept safe, sent to live with her betrothed when the first ogre attacks hit Avonlea, protected in a citadel far from her war-torn home. She had been amazed, upon her return, to see Avonlea looking so strong and prosperous. Had Gold done that? Had his wealth and clear administrative talent won not only the war, but also the peace? If so, what was he doing living as a country squire, in a mansion on the edge of the realm? His talents were certainly better utilised closer to home.

Belle had trained herself in these administrative tasks, the day-to-day running of a kingdom. Gaston’s homeland had been the Marchlands, and she had expected to rule it someday, while her husband hunted and wenched. She knew that money did not solve everything. She couldn’t imagine how any sum could have accomplished so much in so little time. So how had Gold done it? She knew for a fact George and her father hadn’t the talent, so it had to be him, but how?

“What’s all this?” 

Belle’s head shot up, startled by Ruby’s sudden entrance into her study. The other woman bustled forward, her eyes on the papers spread out on Belle’s desk.

“Ruby, you startled me!” she laughed. 

“Sorry, Belles,” Ruby apologised. “I just thought you’d be reading or sewing or something. This all looks so official.”

“Well, you told me Lord Gold owns half my land,” Belle reminded her. “So I asked him to deliver the leases this morning so I could read them for myself.”

“Do you want me to call for Lord George, or General Fa?” Ruby asked. Belle blinked at her.

“Whatever for?”

“Lord Gold has a talent for talking good people into knots,” Ruby warned. “He’ll take advantage of your kindness. Give that man an inch, he’ll take the realm.”

“Lord George helped broker the deal,” Belle countered, tapping the clause in question. “I doubt his input would be unbiased. And General Fa has more important matters to attend to than holding my hand while I read big words.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Ruby said, and Belle nodded, accepting the apology. “You always were the smart one, always reading. If it were anyone but Gold on the other side…”

“But it is Gold on the other side,” Belle said, “And it’s important he knows he’s dealing with me, from now on. I won’t be taken advantage of just because I’m young, and no one expected me to inherit the throne.”

“So have you discovered anything?” Ruby asked, finally taking a seat on the other side of Belle’s desk. Belle made a soft snort through her nose, and shook her head.

“Only that Lord Gold might be the shrewdest merchant in the Enchanted Forest,” Belle said. “These contracts are watertight. They even make provision for me!” She pointed to the section in question, against which she had made a small, erasable mark in charcoal. “You see? In the event that Sir Maurice should pass before the contract ends, my father agreed on behalf of any heir to uphold it!”

“He made the decision for you?” Ruby asked. Belle nodded.

“I was already locked in before I even met the man.” She sighed, and slumped back in her high-backed chair. “I’ve combed through these documents, but everything is provided for. I cannot raise or lower taxes, alter the flow of goods from his farms to the castle or out of the realm, even change basic building regulations, without consulting him first!”

“That snake,” Ruby bit out. “No wonder your father hated him so much.”

“Why did he sign this?” Belle asked. “There’s so little benefit to the realm, and so great a cost!”

Ruby shook her head. “You weren’t here during the war, Belle,” she said. Her eyes were clouded, sad. Belle swallowed: Ruby had lost both her parents to the first battles with the ogres, and the war had raged on in her absence. “Things got really bad, we were running low on everything. When Lord Gold showed up, and bought the land, suddenly we had enough money and spells to fight back properly. He turned the tide.”

“Then why do you hate him so much?” Belle asked, mystified. “If he won the war for us…”

“We won the war,” Ruby corrected. “Gold just profiteered off our misery. He set himself up as your father’s business partner, as if he could run the realm from his office in town. Everyone hates him for that.”

“Well, I’ll get to decide that for myself when he gets here,” Belle said, briskly. Ruby gasped.

“What?”

“He’s my next appointment,” Belle said, calmly. “He’s actually due to arrive any minute.”

“You’re going to meet with him alone?” Ruby asked. Belle shrugged.

“You’re welcome to stay if you want,” she said. “But I’m not afraid of him.”

“You should be,” Ruby said, a little ominously. “Most of the rest of us are.”

Right then, as if on cue, the steward entered the room. “Your highness, Lord Gold is here to see you.”

“Send him in, Leroy,” Belle replied, and turned to Ruby. “Last chance to scarper.”

Ruby stood, and straightened her spine. She gracefully rounded the desk, and took a seat behind Belle, in one of the councillor’s chairs. “Not abandoning you alone with him,” she said, stoutly. Belle smiled in gratitude.

Lord Gold entered. He was dressed similarly to the night before, all blacks and dark browns, although now she noticed that his breaches were leather, rather than the customary velvet or brocade, and it matched the collar and detailing on his long coat. Last night, among the riot of colour, he had appeared a shadow hanging over the crowd. Now, in the muted tones of her father’s study, Lord Gold appeared somehow darker yet, the hard lines of his jacket giving him an almost malevolent appearance. Another of those odd shivers ran down Belle’s spine.

“Lord Gold,” Belle did not curtsey; instead, she held out her hand for Gold to shake. She didn’t throw him off so easily this time: he shook her proffered hand, and remained standing when she sat down. “Take a seat,” she offered. Only then did he do as bade. His cane rested between his knees; he rested both hands on the handle.

She held his gaze, and felt for a moment as if his probing stare would reach into her mind itself, extract every hidden thought, every memory and dream. Belle resisted the urge to look away. Gold’s eyes were unreadable, and for a moment they just blinked back at hers, a staring contest Belle refused to lose. His irises were a rich, deep brown, that seemed to grow darker and cooler the longer she stared into them. She almost flinched when she was certain, impossibly, that for a moment they became snake’s eyes. 

“I trust the contracts are all above board,” he said at last, when she didn’t speak. Belle called it a victory, and gratefully looked away.

“Indeed,” Belle smiled, “it’s a masterpiece. You have somehow managed to purchase the realm right out from under me.”

“I’m just a tenant, your highness,” he spread his hands, modestly. “Your father thought the terms very reasonable.”

“My father, it seems, was held to ransom by a war he couldn’t win.”

“The realm is safe, is it not?” Gold asked. He grinned, a shark’s smile, and a gold tooth in the corner of his mouth glistened. “Clearly the war was not so futile as once thought.”

“Clearly,” she conceded. “Which is why I think a reward far greater than a long-hold tenancy is in order.”

“I’m sorry, your highness?” Oh, Belle enjoyed his confusion. He blinked at her, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows. It was perhaps the most human he ever appeared, when wrong-footed.

“Well, given that there was clearly more offered in consideration for the land than these contracts let on, it has been suggested that you are our saviour, Lord Gold,” she said. Ruby made an odd noise behind her. “Would you like to elaborate on that?”

“You have the agreement between your father and myself there in your hands,” Gold said. “I don’t think there’s much more to say on the matter.”

“The facts speak for themselves,” she said, briskly, “You arrived in town, and the war ended. So, congratulations.”

“For what, pray tell?”

“Your appointment to my Council, of course!” Belle grinned, almost brought to laughter at the consternation on his face. “Given that you must be consulted on all changes made that might affect your holdings, I thought why not make the relationship between your holdings and my government official? I am officially appointing you as my Chancellor, beginning immediately.”

“Belle!” Ruby jumped to her feet, “What are you doing?” she hissed.

Belle glanced around at her lady-in-waiting, “I’m giving Lord Gold his due,” she said. “If he wants to be close to the throne so badly, then why not sit at its side?” She turned her eyes to Gold, and raised an eyebrow, “Unless you want to end the contract, and renegotiate your tenancy?”

Gold was glaring at her, anger simmering in his eyes behind his cool expression. Somehow nothing on his face had changed, and yet Belle could see him seething. “And if I do not accept the appointment?” he asked, coolly.

“Then you will have to negotiate with whomever I do appoint,” she said. “And I’m afraid my flighty female feelings may well lead me to choose someone who will be less pleasant to deal with than myself. It’s all that dancing and curtseying, you know. It addles the mind. Lord George would almost certainly find a way to drive you out, if he were given the power to do so. And he is likely the only other qualified candidate.”

Gold’s eyes fixed on hers. Belle didn’t flinch. If he wanted to hold her to ransom, then he would have to put his money where his mouth was.

“As Chancellor,” she pressed on, “You would report directly to me. You would be responsible for running council meetings, as well as being my principle advisor. It is a position of great power.”

“I will not be kept beneath your heel,” Gold snarled. 

Belle considered him. The outburst had come from somewhere other than the cool, dismissive persona he had presented thus far. Ruby had called him an upstart, and certainly he didn’t conduct himself like a noble. Belle had the sudden insight that he had struggled to reach a position of such influence; someone, long ago, had forced him to the ground, and he refused to return to that position. In so doing, she saw herself through his eyes: a Princess, born to privilege and power, able to snap her fingers and crush him at a whim.

“I am in need of an experienced advisor,” she said, her voice moderated and conciliatory. “I am new to this, and aside from a handful of old friends, I don’t know who I can trust at court.”

“Most, including your erstwhile lady-in-waiting would agree that that distrust should begin with me,” Gold told her, with a glance to Ruby, still fuming at Belle’s side. Belle nodded.

“So I have heard. I can therefore trust you are not in league with any other element.” She gestured to the papers on her desk, “You put everything in writing, Gold. I know your interests, your ambitions. You are now the counterweight to the George family’s influence, and the architect of Avonlea’s current stability. You belong beside the throne, not managing petty holdings in the countryside.”

“Oh Gods, you’re serious,” Ruby moaned. 

“I am,” Belle confirmed. “You’ve gone to great lengths to rise up in Avonlea, and you have clearly done more still to rescue it from ruin. I’m asking you to take your place in its future.”

Gold eyed her closely, scrutinising her. She could see the curiosity in his eyes, the interest, perhaps even joy at being surprised. He looked for a moment ageless, hold as the hills and yet young as the dawn. 

He opened his mouth, as if he were about to reply, when a commotion outside the door cut him off. The door burst open a moment later, Lord George and poor Leroy tumbling into the room.

Lord George caught himself, and straightened his doublet. Leroy proclaimed belatedly, “The Lord George to see you, your highness.”

“Thank you, Leroy,” Belle gave Leroy a sympathetic smile, and had to bite down a laugh at the man’s grumbling as he left the room, glaring murderously at Lord George as he went.

“Your highness,” Lord George began, “I must object to this on the strongest possible terms!”

“Object to what, my Lord?” Belle asked, although she was certain she could guess. Lord Gold was grinning like a crocodile, with gleaming teeth and sharp eyes. Lord George looked as if he could throttle the other man where he sat.

“This… this clandestine meeting with a rival landowner,” Lord George sputtered. “I must insist that a member of the Council is present when-“

“It was hardly clandestine, my Lord,” Belle cut in, bristling although she kept up a polite smile. “My steward is free to share the details of my meetings through the day with anyone who asks. I presume that was how you heard of this in the first place, in fact. Leroy can be such a terrible gossip.”

Gold’s eyes flicked from George back to Belle, and she felt an odd burst of pride at what she saw there. He almost looked impressed.

“Nevertheless, I must insist on being present if any court contracts are being renegotiated.”

“Considering how you brokered the deal in the first place, I can understand your consternation, my Lord,” Belle replied. “However, I assure you I am more than capable of taking it from here. Your kind offer of assistance is appreciated, but unnecessary.”

“I hardly brokered anything,” Lord George objected. “I only made the introduction at the insistence of your father.”

Belle swallowed, her poise faltering. George was mentioned in the contracts, and she had assumed therefore that he had been involved in the negotiations. He’d always intimidated her as a child, her father’s Chancellor, a grim, stoic man with a face cast in granite and an unimpeachable military record. He’d lead the charge that had routed the ogres, or so she had been told. Much as she believed she was in the right here, it was hard to maintain her position in the face of his anger, towering over her from the other side of the desk. She felt Ruby’s hand on her arm, but brushed it aside. The comfort was welcome, but she couldn’t show weakness, not now. If she let him, she had no doubt Lord George would undermine her at any turn, relegating her to a figurehead and consolidating power in his own hands.

She had lied to Gold: there was no way in hell she would ever make this man Chancellor again.

“You were compensated handsomely for any inconvenience caused to your business,” Gold muttered. Belle and George both stared at him: Belle with gratitude, George with contempt. “I hardly see how renegotiations would impact you at all.”

“You have no say in this,” George retorted. His gaze swung back to Belle, “Your highness, I demand you throw this upstart out at once, until the Chancellor’s office has had time to read over any new proposals.”

“Chancellor’s office?” Belle blinked up at him, Gold’s intervention having given her time to regroup. “I wasn’t aware I had officially appointed a new Chancellor yet.”

“My apologies, your highness,” George backed down, but she knew it was only an act. He felt he owned the place. Belle’s smile was icy.

“Your name is under consideration,” Belle told him. “As are a number of other well-qualified candidates. A new government may need new ideas, don’t you think?”

“I think continuity and stability at a time of transition are vital, your highness,” Lord George replied. “I had assumed you were bright enough to recognise that too.”

Lord Gold snorted, a soft, dark little laugh. Lord George turned to him. “Something to add, Lord Gold?”

“No, no, you’re doing a fine job insulting her intelligence all on your own,” he chortled. “Do go on, dearie, it’s going swimmingly.”

“Your highness, without a Chancellor to properly inspect any changes to the contracts, and considering your lack of experience in this area, I must caution against any deal you make with this… this…”

“Monster?” Gold suggested, smiling with all his teeth. To Belle’s surprise and fascination, George baulked a little. “You would know all about deals, wouldn’t you, George?” he continued, his soft voice slicing through the air. “Tell me, how is your son, by the way? He was looking well at the ball last night.”

George’s face went white. Belle watched on with a hundred unanswered questions, as George’s gaze flicked between her and Lord Gold. 

“Is that all, Lord George?” Belle asked, pleasantly. “As you can see, we are rather busy here.”

George swallowed, hard. With one last fearful look at Gold, he gave a curt bow to Belle. “Your highness.”

“Lord George,” she inclined her head, politely, and he turned on his heel and left. Leroy seemed grateful to slam the doors behind him.

Belle took a deep breath, and slumped back in her chair. Ruby’s hand covered her shoulder again, and this time Belle held it tight, comforted by her friend’s silent support. “Next time I sit with you, I’m borrowing Granny’s crossbow,” she muttered. Belle laughed, a welcome release of tension.

She looked to Gold, and straightened up. “You see what I have to deal with?” Belle asked. “This is day one. He won’t ever respect my authority, he barely respected my father’s, but his position is secure. I need someone at my side who is at least united with me in opposition to him, someone who knows the terrain. It seems we make a decent team.”

An odd smile was playing about the corners of Gold’s mouth, and Belle caught herself watching it for just a moment. He looked nothing like handsome, burly Gaston or friendly, smiling Billy, and yet there was something so interesting about his face, an odd mix of malice and care, as if his face had been made for smiling but twisted into something else. And then there were those eyes, just a little too dark, almost opaque. 

“If I decide to leave, you will not prevent me,” he stipulated, carefully. “You will use no means at your disposal to prevent my departure or force my hand, at any time.”

“You are free to act as you choose,” Belle agreed. Her eyes narrowed: it was such a specific demand. Had he been a prisoner once? An indentured servant, even a slave? The more he spoke, the more certain she was that he had started with nothing, and was terrified of returning to that state. “Do we have a deal?”

His eyes narrowed, and an odd smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “It appears we do.”


	3. Chapter 3

_One month later_

Belle took a deep breath, and finally reached the top step. Typical of Gold to have chosen to make his office not down near the throne room, where Lord George had set himself up, but in the tallest tower of the castle.

He didn’t like people; she had learned that right away. It was part of what made them a good team: she liked to make friends, and he liked to keep to himself. It was also what made state functions these days so much harder to bear. Belle found herself gravitating more and more to the dark corner where her Chancellor always lurked, than to the midst of the party where the Princess was supposed to be.

She rationalised it that it was to avoid the flock of suitors who had streamed into Avonlea following her coronation. That didn’t explain her disappointment that Gold always refused to dance, with her or anyone else.

“Gold, open up!” she called, hammering on the door. “I need to talk to you!”

She wasn’t sure if she was breathing hard from exertion or anger. Gold had quickly become her confidante, her chosen partner for venting. Ruby was wonderful for social slights and gossip, but when she was angry, no one understood like Gold. She heard a sound on the other side, and that odd scent of ozone she always seemed to smell in these situations. A second later, he had opened the door, and stood in the doorway. “Your highness?” he asked. He didn’t give a damn what she called him, but he refused to drop the formalities even for a moment. “What can I do for you?”

“George is petitioning again to make whomever I end up married to King instead of Prince Consort,” Belle snarled, storming past Gold into his tower-office. “Does he have no shame at all?”

“No, none,” Gold agreed pleasantly. She was the only person he was ever pleasant to, and it threw her off a little. Even Ruby, who she knew he didn’t dislike, received only the thinnest of smiles.

“Thank God that man only has one son,” Belle muttered. “Otherwise I think he’d hold me at sword-point until his family was on the throne.”

“But he has only one son, so what are you so concerned about?” Gold asked, closing the door and stepping around his fuming Princess to return to his desk. “You know this ridiculous proposal will never leave the Council.”

“I think he has support this time,” Belle said. Gold frowned.

“Really, from whom?”

“Well, General Fa, for one,” Belle said.

“Well, that’s disappointing. I thought General Fa had at least a semblance of brain activity,” he said. “How did George achieve that little coup?”

“I’ve no idea,” Belle sighed. “But when I mentioned the proposal to the General, he became cagey.”

“Well, he’ll never get Dame Lucas on side,” Gold said, waving a hand. “I wouldn’t worry about it, dearie.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Belle said, miserably. That was what hurt the most about this whole ridiculous situation: she wasn’t sure she even still had Granny’s support that she could rule alone. “Granny mentioned this morning how nice it would be for me to have a partner, someone to share the burden of ruling with.”

“Ah,” Gold nodded, taking a seat. “Do you agree?”

“I think I’m learning, aren’t I?” she demanded. Gold shrugged.

“From where I’m sitting, you’re doing a fine job, dearie.”

“Women rule alone elsewhere, don’t they?” she asked. Gold considered the question.

“Well, I’d hardly recommend you model yourself on Queen Regina, if that’s what you mean,” he said. Belle swallowed, hard.

“You… you think I can’t do this?”

“I would never dare think such a thing,” Gold assured her. “I’m well aware that the moment anyone implies you cannot do something, it will hit the top of your agenda.”

Belle rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t keep down a smile. His respect meant the world to her.

“It’s basically a vote of no confidence, isn’t it?” she said. “The Council would rather I marry a biddable fool and relegate me to second string, than place their faith in a woman.”

“It may be more complex than that,” Gold sighed, and Belle couldn’t understand the note of regret in his voice. “Your highness, no one can deny what you’ve achieved in a month…”

“Then why are they trying to oust me?” Belle demanded. “I mean, the first school is already under construction in Avonlea town centre! The water’s cleaner now the Hatter’s Row witch has her own well to dump her waste in, and the farmers are coordinating their crop rotations so there will be more variety in the marketplace. I know what I’ve accomplished, so why do they think some Lord’s son with a ring on his finger will do better?”

“Your highness, who drafted and submitted the contracts for the building of that school?”

“You did.”

“And who gave you the exact right words to say to the witch to convince her to accept a new well, rather than using the local stream?”

“You…” Belle murmured, dread curling in her stomach.

“And who provided the maps and guidance on how best to rotate those crops?”

“You did, but… but you’re not running Avonlea through me! Those were my ideas!”

“You know that,” he said, gently, “I know that.”

“I’m not marrying some concussed young knight and handing over my power because some suspicious idiots are afraid of you,” Belle spat. She didn’t know why that made her so angry, so protective. She couldn’t have done any of this without Gold’s help. She knew what the townspeople thought, what Granny thought, what even Ruby and Billy, her friends, thought of her Chancellor. There were rumours he used dark magic to manipulate her, and that he was the real Prince of Avonlea. It was malicious, and ridiculous, and she wouldn’t stand for it.

“You’re a very brave young woman, Belle,” he said, softly. She thought it might be the first time she’d ever heard him say her name. She liked how it sounded in his low, rolling accent. It sent a pleasant shiver down her spine, which she chose to ignore.

“Lord George hates you,” she said, “and so he hates me for listening to you.”

“Yes,” Gold agreed.

“Why does he hate you so much?” Belle asked, a question she’d asked any number of times and received no plausible answer. “Is it just because you’re his rival?”

“Who knows why men think the way they do?” he asked, a question for a question. He could be so frustrating sometimes.

She sighed: she knew she’d never get a straight answer out of him. “What do I do now?” she asked.

“What do you think you should do?” Gold asked, spreading his hands.

Belle rolled her eyes. “I think I should approach General Fa and Granny alone, in a low-pressure setting, and convince them to switch their votes.”

“Correct,” Gold inclined his head. “Tonight’s ball would be a perfect opportunity.”

Belle made a face, “You know I was planning to feign a headache and miss that,” she said. “The suitors have been arriving all day, and my facial muscles start to hurt from pretending to smile after a while.”

Gold snickered, “It’s hard being royal, isn’t it?” he said. “Why not just give the job to Lord George, if he wants it so badly?” She rolled her eyes.

“Yes, cry a river for the poor princess, forced to dance and wear pretty dresses. Woe betide, there shall be much hair-pulling and gnashing of teeth.”

“Someone’s been reading the Greeks,” he murmured, approvingly. Belle grinned.

“I should save some reading for all my future free time. You know, when I’m someone’s little wife, embroidering and weaving while my strong husband rules my lands.”

“Your highness, I doubt you could ever be a ‘little’ anything.”

Belle stood up, and put her hands on her hips. “I’ll have you know I’m five-foot-one even in heeled shoes,” she said. “I’m nothing but little.”

“I was referring to your personality,” he countered, easily. “You fill up a room.”

Belle felt herself blush at that: she almost thought it was a compliment, especially when accompanied by the warmth in his eyes.

“I was only reading the Greeks on your recommendation,” she said. She didn’t know why that was important, it just felt like something he should know.

“Careful who you say that to,” he said. “Someone might decide that you’re being unduly influenced by the realm’s personal monster.”

“You’re not a monster,” she replied, firmly. “Anyone who says that can answer to me.”

“And therein, I believe, lies the problem,” Gold replied. “Anyhow, you have a plan now. You’ve no more need to disturb an old man.”

Belle looked at him, really looked at him. “How… how old are you, exactly?” she asked. He narrowed his eyes, and tilted his head to one side.

“Ancient,” he said. “Old as the bloody hills themselves.”

Belle rolled her eyes, “You know, if you ever give a straight answer to anything, I think Hell will freeze over.”

“Most likely,” he agreed.

Belle threw up her hands, and left the room. “Good day, your highness!” he called after her; she slammed the door without responding.


	4. Chapter 4

Belle didn’t see Lord Gold again until the ball.

As ever, as always, she found him skulking in a dark corner, a glass of wine in one hand. She was stunned, however, to see that he wasn’t dressed in his customary dark leather trousers and coat. Instead, his waistcoat was cream brocade with a gold trim, and his frock coat was rich, royal blue velvet. It was as if a shadow had decided for one night to become a handsome prince. She couldn’t quite keep her eyes off him, even his hair looked softer.

“That’s a new look for you,” she said. He shrugged.

“I like to subvert expectations,” he replied, with a lopsided smile. She loved when he smiled like that. She didn’t get long to admire it, however, before he spoke again, gesturing to General Fa across the ballroom, “You should speak with him now, before he becomes embroiled in conversation.”

Belle nodded, and regretfully left Gold’s side to find the General. When she reached him, she was glad to still find him unattached to any of the wandering conversations. There was no risk of the man dancing with anyone; like Gold, he had been injured long ago, and was now forced to walk with a limp. Unlike Gold, however, the cause of General Fa’s injury was well-known: he had famously launched himself onto an ogre’s back to sever its spine at the neck, and when the beast fell he had been crushed.

The cause of his injury was yet another question Gold always refused to answer. But Belle couldn’t dwell on that now.

“General Fa,” she greeted him, and he turned to her with a warm smile.

“Your highness,” he inclined his head. “You are looking lovely tonight, as ever.”

“Thank you, General,” she said. “Your wife and daughter are here, I hope?”

“My wife is visiting her mother, but my daughter is around here someplace.”

“And are you having a good time?” she asked. The General nodded.

“Your highness always throws enjoyable parties,” he said, diplomatically.

“This ball isn’t of my design,” Belle said. “A fact we are both well aware of. This is Lord George’s party: he should take the credit.”

“Indeed,” Fa murmured. He looked suddenly uncomfortable, as if he knew where this conversation was heading.

“Speaking of Lord George, have you had time to look over his newest proposal yet?”

“I have, yes.”

His forthrightness knocked her back a little: she had expected more of the caginess from a few days back. “I see. And your response has not changed?”

“If it comes to a vote, I will be supporting the proposal, yes,” he said.

Belle grit her teeth, fighting the rising sense of injustice and accompanying anger. “May I ask why you believe I need a man to hold my hand?”

“Your highness,” General Fa sighed, his shoulders slumping, “I have no doubt you will become a very capable ruler. I intend my own daughter to succeed me upon my retirement, so you understand this is not an issue of your gender.”

“Then why are you supporting such a ridiculous proposition?” Belle demanded. “You never did before!”

“It’s politics, your highness,” General Fa said, heavily. “Much as I detest it, this is the way of the world.”

Belle looked at him, really looked at him, and thought about what he’d said. “If this isn’t about the bill, then… is this about Lord George himself? Did he buy your vote, or threaten you somehow?”

General Fa’s gaze drifted, and Belle followed his eyes. Across the room, not far from where Gold stood, in fact, she saw General Fa’s daughter Mulan standing with Ruby, their heads together as if sharing a secret, both women laughing. As Belle looked closer, she saw their hands were clasped between them.

“It’s an exchange of favours,” General Fa admitted, as if even saying the words pained him. “It’s not honourable, I’m not proud of it.”

“Whatever he can do for you, I’m sure I can match it,” Belle said. General Fa looked at her.

“He has offered to make sure that Dame Lucas’ granddaughter is married before the year is out,” he said. “Can you offer the same?”

“Why would you care if Ruby is married or not?” Belle asked.

General Fa’s eyebrows rose, and he looked again at his daughter. “You may be the only person in Avonlea who does not see what I see,” he said. “I want my daughter to be happy. In a perfect world, I would be able to see her paired with anyone she chose. But this world is imperfect. I will not have my daughter made mockery of, made an outcast of, if I can help it.”

Belle blinked at him, then back at Mulan and Ruby, and felt realisation hit in a rush. “You… you believe that if she could, Mulan would marry Ruby?” she asked.

“Lord George believes so,” he said. “I see no reason to dispute it.”

“And you would… you would sell Ruby to some unknown man, just to keep them apart? Don’t you see how that would hurt Mulan?”

“In time, she would see the kindness in it,” he said.

“You would force two women to marry against their will, because you can’t accept your daughter’s choice?” she demanded. She couldn’t believe it: she had always respected General Fa, had always thought of him as a good man and a kind father. He had always respected and valued Mulan, never treated her any differently than if he had had a son for an heir.

“I see no other option,” he said. “The men will have a hard enough time accepting a female General as it is, when the time comes. What will they say, if that woman is also...?”

“In love with a woman?” Belle finished. General Fa nodded. Belle took a deep breath, and found her gaze drifting, away from her friends laughing together and toward Gold. She met his eyes; he was watching her too. “They will say that in Avonlea, we love whom we choose. I am willing to issue a counter proposal to that effect, in fact, with rigorous enforcement.”

“Lord George will never approve,” General Fa said. Belle shook her head.

“Lord George disapproves of kittens and sunshine, too,” she said. “This is a new era, General Fa. In my Avonlea, we will educate our children, clothe our poor, and love as our hearts desire. Will you help me with that?”

General Fa looked at her, a small smile curving the corners of his lips. “I will speak with Dame Lucas, but I believe we have an agreement.”

Belle beamed, and shook the General’s hand. She looked back across the room, and saw Gold still watching her, his eyes warm. He looked so handsome, his hair all soft and tousled, the blue setting off the warmth of his skin. Perhaps Lord George should meddle more often, if setting him off-kilter achieved these results.

Belle made her way back across the ballroom, as if drawn to him by an irresistible force. “The General looks happy,” he said, when she was back at his side.

“I presented a counteroffer,” Belle said. “He’ll talk to Dame Lucas, too.”

“Well played, your highness,” he murmured, and took a sip of his wine.

“I’m rather proud of myself,” she admitted, looking up at him. His profile was distinctive, his long nose and high forehead, the ends of his hair curling at his collar. “Aren’t you proud of me?”

He snorted, “You’re more than capable of defeating Lord George’s ridiculous proposal at the next Council meeting,” he said. “You didn’t need my help to accomplish that.”

“I negotiated, just like you taught me,” she pressed. “I noticed what he cared about, identified the problem he needed resolving, and found a way to align our interests. I created a win-win.”

“And I’m very proud of the monster I’ve created,” he agreed. She grinned.

“You speak like I’m going around murdering peasants and bumping off family members,” she said. “I see no monsters here.”

“You’d be the only one,” he said. She rolled her eyes. “It will be noted if you refuse to dance with any of your suitors tonight,” he said then. “People will talk.”

“I don’t want to dance with any of them,” Belle sighed. “I don’t want to marry any of them.”

“You intend to remain a maid?” he asked, an eyebrow raised. “It’s not uncommon among women who inherit in their own right.”

Belle’s eyes drifted to him, away from the crowd. She wondered whether she intended never to marry. She wondered if she could imagine a husband she would love, who would support her and encourage her, challenge and delight her, as much as the man beside her. Was it so unthinkable that she could choose a husband who was older than her, not the young, well-meaning son of a noble house but a merchant-lawyer who had clawed his way to a title?

“What about your former betrothed?” he spoke again, before she could give voice to her thoughts. “Sir Gaston? An alliance between Avonlea and the Marchlands would be beneficial to both.”

Belle shook her head. “I never cared for Gaston,” she said. “I never could have loved him.”

“Oh?” Gold raised an eyebrow, and glanced down at her. She thought she saw hope there, behind his cool exterior, but perhaps she was only seeing what she wanted to see.

“To me love is… love is layered,” she continued, “Love is a mystery to be uncovered. I could never have given my heart to someone so superficial as he.”

Gold looked down at her; her eyes met his. For a moment, the world stood still.

The music changed, the country jig changing to a slower waltz, one of Belle’s favourites. Belle sighed: she’d have a hundred young men lining up to dance with her any moment now, and only Gold’s fearsome reputation was currently holding them at bay.

“Will you dance with me?” she asked. She knew what the answer would be before he said anything, and stepped in before he could, “We can go slowly around your leg, I promise. I just need to not have this song ruined by some handsy suitor, and it’d definitely set Lord George off his game. You’re trying to subvert expectations, right? Subvert mine and dance with me.”

He looked at her, and she blinked up at him, her eyes as wide and appealing as she could make them. Then he sighed, and to her amazement, he held out his hand. “Your highness,” he said, his voice low and wonderful, “May I have this dance?”

“You may, my Lord,” she said, and took his hand in hers.

They touched so rarely, and never on purpose, that Belle was taken aback by the sudden jolt of electricity up her spine as his skin met hers. His hand was rough, calloused and strong, and again she wondered at his past. These hands had done more than pen contracts, once upon a time. Not that he would ever tell her what, of course.

He lead her out onto the dance floor, and if she had thought holding his hand was intense, she was unprepared entirely for the feeling of having his other hand brace on her waist. He left his cane by the wall, but he seemed to manage remarkably well without it, as he lead her confidently in the waltz. Belle was grateful for that: she didn’t know if she would have remembered the steps without his guidance. His gaze never left hers, warm and intense, hot and dark and that little but dangerous, his eyes containing far more than eyes had any right to express. The smile on his lips was kind yet sardonic, an intoxicating mix of light and dark that set her stomach clenching, the shocks down her spine continuing every time she brushed against him, every time his hand tightened on her waist or his fingers stroked her hand.

Belle barely heard the music. It was such a strange delight, to be held in his arms, and yet they did not speak. Their relationship, a partnership built on intelligence, on a meeting of minds, a mountain of words wrapped and bound between them, and yet now Belle could not think of a thing to say. Their feet moved almost of their own accord, as if the harmony of their conversations had moved from the verbal to the physical, their bodies moving together the way their minds had been for weeks. Belle even fancied that when he pulled her close, she could feel his heart beat in time with hers.

She didn’t know his forename, but she knew he liked his tea black and his wine red. She didn’t know where he came from, or why he’d come to Avonlea, or how he’d injured his ankle, but she knew he slept badly at night and that he thought higher of strong women than hard men. He hated the military, and had an odd knack for knitting and sewing, for dextrous activities Belle had never mastered. She knew him, and yet he was still a total mystery to her.

“Why did you want to dance with me?” he asked, breaking their silence. His voice was low and rough, rasping as she had never heard it before. It was intoxicating.

“You looked so lonely,” she said. “Any man would be, living the way you do. Some days, I think the only person you talk to is me.”

“If I had my way, every day would be like that,” he said. It was such a strange confession, it sent a shiver down Belle’s spine, made something low in her belly clench and coil, heat building where she’d rarely felt it before. “I look forward every day to you banging on my door.”

“Why did you come to Avonlea?” she asked. She searched his eyes, trying to find truth when she knew his mouth would evade the question.

“I saw opportunity,” he told her, the same old half-answer.

“And did you find it?” she asked, as he spun them around. She wished he would pull her closer, crush her against his chest, dip her low and kiss her mouth so she could see if his lips felt as soft as they looked.

He didn’t answer. The music came to its end, and they stood still on the dance floor, his eyes locked on hers. There were a million things she wanted to say, but they clogged her mouth and stopped her tongue. She said nothing at all; neither did he.

His hand came up, and for a moment his fingers brushed down the curve of her cheek, his thumb playing over her bottom lip. Belle’s eyes fluttered closed; she waited, hoping desperately he would follow that touch with a kiss.

The other dancers began to applaud the band. The sound jolted Belle out of her reverie, and her eyes snapped open. She applauded too, glancing away from Gold to cry praise at the band, as was expected of their patron.

When she looked back, he had melted away into the crowd like new snow, as if he had never been.

Belle raised shaking fingers to her lips. They still tingled where he’d touched her.

Belle plastered on a bright smile, and cried out for an encore, a group dance perhaps. The crowd cheered, and the wine flowed, and Belle made sure to let everyone see her merriment before excusing herself.

She strode off the dance floor with a murmur she needed refreshment, and found a quiet place to stand for a moment and collect herself. All the blood had rushed to her face, and her heart was pounding far, far too fast.

“You’ve made quite the ally there, your highness,” a voice she hadn’t wanted to hear cut through the music, and she turned, as poised as she could muster, to face Lord George.

“Lord Gold has made an excellent Chancellor,” she said, not even attempting to feign ignorance.

“A matter of taste, I suppose,” Lord George smiled, thinly. “I hear you had an interesting conversation with General Fa, earlier.”

“He was concerned for his family’s welfare,” Belle said, her skin crawling. She wished Ruby were here, or Gold. She didn’t feel comfortable alone with Lord George, even among a sea of people. Without an ally, she felt like a mouse alone with a lion.

“He’s a good man, the General,” Lord George agreed. “I had thought him an honourable one, too. But I see now those are in short supply in Avonlea these days.”

“Do you have a point to make?” Belle snapped. “Or are you here simply to badmouth your peers?”

Lord George sighed, deeply. “Your highness, you have altogether the wrong impression of me. I am not, as you may imagine, a villain from one of your storybooks. Certainly Lord Gold is no dashing hero, however he may have chosen to clothe himself in that skin tonight. Believe it or not, I am speaking from a place of concern, for both your welfare and the realm’s.”

“Your concern expresses itself as contempt, more often than not,” Belle replied. “You will forgive my scepticism.”

“You know me, your highness,” Lord George said, bluntly. “I was your father’s friend and confidante, his Chancellor, for decades. You grew up with my son James. You know where my holdings are, what my interest is. And whether you believe me or not, I have been impressed by how well you’ve taken to the task of ruling, with some glaring exceptions.”

“Then I expect you to withdraw your latest attempt to replace me with a squire of your choosing,” she said. Lord George gave her a stern look.

“My concern is not with your abilities, but your objectivity,” he said. “Lord Gold is not what he appears.”

“Then what is he, Lord George?” she asked. Lord George reached into his doublet, and pulled out a long, gleaming silver knife.

Belle flinched, afraid for a moment, but then he took the blade in his palm and handed her the handle. Belle took it, and ran her fingers over the metal, a shiver of something ancient and terrible running down her spine. It had serrated, wavy edges, carved black into the polished metal. A name was inscribed on the blade: Rumplestiltskin.

“I recognise this,” she murmured. “This is the Dark One’s blade.”

“Indeed it is,” Lord George replied. “Your Lord Gold kept it in his possession, but at last it has been wrested from his grasp. It is the only thing capable of controlling his power.”

“Then why give it to me?” Belle asked. Lord George shrugged.

“You are the ruler of Avonlea,” he said. “You brought him into the castle, into your confidence. It is your duty to banish the monster, not mine.”

Belle gaped at him, then let out a bark of stunned laughter. “You cannot be serious,” she said. “You go too far, my Lord, if you’re accusing my Chancellor of having possession of a demon!”

“I do not accuse him of controlling the beast,” Lord George replied, tautly. “I know that he is the beast.”

“That’s impossible,” Belle shook her head. “The Dark One has skin like a snake’s, and eyes that devour the world. He makes mountains tremble, he doesn’t sit in a tower office and read over court documents!”

“I have told you what I know,” Lord George said, implacably. “This is no political ploy, and certainly no trick. My work is done. If you continue on as the plaything of the Dark One, if you cling to power through dark magic, all of Avonlea will know of your crimes, and his. This is your last chance to prove your loyalty to your people, your highness. This realm will not fall to his evil. I have already lost too much to his tricks for that.”

“What… what did he do to you?” Belle asked. “If you expect me to believe this fairy tale, you must tell me all of it.”

“Once, my family had need of something very precious. My wife, in her desperation, summoned the most powerful creature she could find. He engineered it so that despite the joy the deal brought us, it soon turned to sorrow, and we were forced into his debt a second time. He is a vicious, malicious creature. He absolutely cannot be trusted.”

“How am I to know you are not in his thrall, then?” Belle asked. Lord George shook his head.

“I know the demon for what it is. I know the mistakes I have made, the choices I have to live with. This land will not fall to those same demons.”

“Are you threatening me?” Belle asked, her voice low and dangerous, the tone Gold had taught her.

“I’m telling you that you have a choice to make. You can choose your kingdom, or your beast. Mark my words, you cannot have both.” Lord George gave a curt bow, “Your highness,” and walked away into the crowd, his head high like he hadn’t just said what Belle had heard him say.

Belle looked back down at the dagger in her hands. She ran a hand over the lettering on the blade. She thought back over everything he’d never told her, the things he’d never said. Why wouldn’t he tell her his age? Why didn’t he say why he’d come to Avonlea? How could mere gold, however much he had spent, destroy an ogre army and rebuild a realm in a matter of weeks, when the war had raged unrelenting for half a decade?

Belle swallowed hard around the knot in her throat. For the first time since she had risen to the throne, she felt completely lost.

Belle’s fingers trembled where they held the blade. Whatever did one do with an item such as this, something so dark and powerful, so terrible? She couldn’t bear to have it on her person, but she couldn’t risk losing it either.

It could be a fake, she reasoned. Yes, it was probably a fake, a forgery Lord George had given her to incriminate her should he need leverage. It still needed to be hidden for safekeeping.

Belle slipped out of the ballroom through a side door, pleading a need for air. She made her way through the castle to the empty, quiet library, a space few save herself frequented. She knelt, and with shaking fingers found the loose floorboard beneath the heavy rug, where she’d hidden sweets and contraband as a child. She wrapped the knife in her handkerchief, and buried it there, until she could formulate a plan.

Then, she rose to her feet, and wrapped her arms around herself. For just a moment, she allowed herself to miss her parents, to miss her youth, to miss a time when such terrible decisions were not hers to make. She could not turn to her Chancellor for guidance here. She knew what Ruby and Dame Lucas would say, what Mulan would say, what General Fa would say. They would all tell her what they always had: that she should never have trusted Gold in the first place; that Avonlea had to come first.

Unbidden, the memory of their dance flickered through her mind. The way he’d held her in his arms, the way his voice had lowered to that rough, soft timbre, the way he’d held her face at the very end, as if he might kiss her at any moment… the thought that it all could have been a lie, a demon’s trick, made her stomach turn. She thought in that second that she might be sick.

Belle took a deep breath, and released it slowly.

Then, Belle mustered a broad smile, and returned to the party. Gold was nowhere to be found; she felt Lord George’s eyes on the back of her head with every step.


	5. Chapter 5

The book in Belle’s hands was heavy, leather-bound and ancient.

Three days from the ball, she had spent closeted away in the library. She had told everyone she was sick, something contagious she had contracted at the party, and left Dame Lucas in charge of the day-to-day running of things. She hadn’t spoken to Gold since their dance. She didn’t know what she’d say to him if she did.

Finally, after three days of research, she had found the book she was looking for.

She had tried, after Lord George’s departure, not to think about what he had told her. It seemed by turns threateningly possible, and ridiculous in the extreme. The Dark One was legend, however recent many of the stories about him were, and to believe that the creature Rumpelstiltskin and her friend Lord Gold were the same person… it stretched even Belle’s impressive imagination. What would a being of pure magic and power, a creature of fairy tale, have to gain from playing a minor country Lord and merchant? Why would someone who could have everything, who could go anywhere and do anything he pleased, choose to settle for such a mundane existence? The Dark One could level mountains, why would he walk with a limp?

But then she thought of the thousand unanswered questions, the simple queries he danced linguistic circles around her to avoid. She thought of his odd dress, so much darker and sharper than his peers, and the instinctive fear all of Avonlea seemed to hold for him. She thought of how his arrival, his seemingly unremarkable bargain with her father, had coincided exactly with the destruction of the ogre forces.

She wanted to trust that her closest friend at court, the man she trusted and adored, would not have kept such a terrible secret from her. She needed to believe him incapable of such a feat. The problem was that she knew no one in the world better suited for just such a task.

A better woman, kinder and more trusting, might have confronted him directly. Belle hoped she might yet find the strength to march into his office, slam the knife down on the desk, and demand an explanation outright. But that plan would accomplish nothing.

If he was the Dark One, and had lied to her from the moment they met, then why would an accusation founded only on the word of an enemy prompt his honesty? And if he were not, then accusing him outright would only betray her own doubts and misgivings, that in a moment of truth she had listened to his rival instead of him. It could ruin forever the delicate, wonderful bond between them. Belle had only had Lord Gold in her life a month, but she already couldn’t imagine how she would continue at court without him.

That left two other options: either she could try and raid his office or his home, in search of evidence of dark magic, or she could summon the creature himself.

Belle had brushed the former idea off immediately. She was no spy: she was small, but hardly nimble, and had no clothing without a full skirt. The Dark One would hide the evidence, anyway, surely. Maids cleaned his rooms in the castle every day, just like everywhere else, and she couldn’t reach his estate in the country without someone finding out.

That left only one option: the book in her hands, containing a summoning ritual to bring the Dark One before her.

Belle swallowed hard around a knot in her throat, that seemed to be directly connected to the much larger tangle in her belly. Her skin crawled, alive with anxiety and fear. What if he didn’t come, and she was left as clueless as before? What if he did, and she didn’t survive the encounter?

She shook her head. Her mother had died in this very room, protecting the realm’s knowledge and delaying the ogre attacks until her servants could get away. She had known her duty, to the realm and to herself. Belle had been hiding leagues to the north, sent away to her betrothed’s home for her safety when the war began. She wasn’t there to hold her mother’s hand, to die beside her or to carry her memory. All she knew was that Colette had died a hero.

Belle had always wanted to be brave. Now, it seemed, was her chance.

The candles flickered in a circle before her, flanked by amethyst and quartz, and every religious symbol Belle could filch from the temple downstairs. The other lights had been extinguished: the creature liked the dark, according to her reading. She didn’t mean to offend the demon, only to find her answers.

Belle took a deep breath, and raised her head, straightening her spine and planting her feet wide apart. She raised the knife in her fist, so the flat of the blade faced her heart.

“Rumplestiltskin, I summon thee!” she called out into the darkness.

The silence was deafening. The very air seemed to hold still, as if to emphasise the emptiness of the room, how alone Belle still was.

“Rumpelstiltskin, I summon thee!” she cried again. A tree branch tapped at the window, and Belle almost jumped out of her skin. She looked around with wild eyes. Nothing.

This time, she threw her whole being into the shout, her anger and fear and crippling doubt forcing the words from her throat, “Rumplestiltskin, I summon thee!”

The wind whistled outside. The candles flickered. Silence reigned.

“Well,” a voice cut through the night, high and full of vicious mirth, “There’s no need to shout.”

Belle spun on her heel. Her summoning circle remained empty; a figure lounged in the doorway. His arms were folded, his heel pressed to his ankle and knee casually bent, the picture of nonchalance and elegance. His face was cast in shadow.

“You didn’t reply,” she said, “So I thought maybe you couldn’t hear me.”

“If you wanted to speak to me,” he said, taking a step forward into a shaft of moonlight from the windows. She gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. Through all of this, she had not expected everything to be true. She had thought… she didn’t know what she had thought. “Then you know where my office is, dearie.”

Belle swallowed down the initial sob, the barrage of insults, the accusations and betrayed, terrified scream. She wasn’t a little girl. Everything she had become since she came back to court, since her coronation, kept her head high and her lips pressed tight closed. She lowered her shaking hand to her side, and clenched it into a fist.

“So it’s true,” she said.

He crept forward on light feet, “Bit of a shock, eh?” he teased, his voice higher and lighter than she had ever heard it. His hands made a slight flourish. Every muscle in his body was tight, every movement practiced and precise. His hair, usually so soft and smooth, sprung from his head in wild curls and brushed the high leather collar of his long coat; his boots laced to his knees. His skin glistened in the moonlight, as scaly and dark and reptilian as her books had led her to believe.

His eyes were what caught her most: opaque, greenish-grey and too large, as if they would swallow the world. She hadn’t realised how greatly she would miss the dark brown she knew, until it was gone.

“Well then, speak, dearie!” he cried, his voice harsh and sharp, startling her. His hands flickered and danced before him. She took an unwilling step back. “You did summon the Dark One, after all! And wherever did you get that?”

His fingers steeped before him, the points of his index fingers pointing at the knife wavering in her fist. “The man who told me who you really were gave it to me,” she said, trying to hold her voice steady. She felt her heart crack and break in her chest; she looked at him, her dearest friend, and didn’t know him at all.

“And I wonder how he got his grubby little hands on it, hmmm,” Rumplestiltskin murmured, stepping closer yet. Belle’s hand did not loosen on the blade. He did not try to take it.

“I just wanted to see if he was right,” Belle whispered. “I didn’t want to believe it.”

“Then why did you?” Rumpelstiltskin sneered, his nose wrinkling. “Why demand the truth when fiction is so much sweeter?”

“Stop it!” Belle snapped, shoving the blade forward, and she was stunned when he took a step back. “Stop lying to me!”

“Put the blade down, Belle,” he said.

“No,” she shook her head, and to her horror she heard her voice crack, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “No, you lied to me, and now I want the truth!”

“We had a deal, dearie,” he reminded her, softly, his high voice a twittering mockery of the low, sweet brogue she knew so well. Who was this creature? How could her friend, her ally, the man who made her heart beat faster, who challenged her and guided her, exist within this sneering, prancing body? How could both men coexist within the same skin?

“I never made any deals with the Dark One,” Belle bit out. “You owe me the truth!”

“You agreed to never force my hand,” he told her. “You have to put down the knife.”

Belle looked at the blade in her hand, and thought back to what Lord George had said. “The blade controls the beast,” she murmured, and her eyes flicked back up to Rumpelstiltskin. “If I… if I command you, holding this, do you have to obey?”

“Yes,” the word seemed forced from his throat, and she remembered her order from before, that he stop lying. The urge to keep hold of the blade, to keep the order in place, to force him to tell her everything and apologise and whatever else came to her mind, was almost overwhelming.

She looked at him, really looked at him. He was not the man she knew, the man she might even have loved. He didn’t smile like him, his eyes weren’t the same; she didn’t know him at all. But he was terrified of the blade. Not because she might stab him, but because she could force him to his knees. Once more, she saw herself in his eyes: a Princess born to freedom and power, with the ability to bring him to heel and remove his free will with a flick of this blade. She could be cruel, she could be a tyrant, she could make him pay for every moment he had lied to her, every crack that had formed in her heart since his betrayal was revealed… and it would consume her. And worse, whatever truth there had been in her beloved Lord Gold, it would kill him too.

“I promised never to force you,” she said, softly, lowering the knife. “Unlike some, I keep my word.”

“What promises have I broken, Belle?” he asked, softly. She didn’t like her name in this voice, this pretended tone. She missed how the letters had rolled over his tongue before, how warm and safe his voice had made her feel.

“I trusted Lord Gold,” she said. “Not… not whatever you are.”

“I’m not a what,” he corrected.

“You know what I mean,” she said.

“You should be careful, dearie,” he said. “I’m not to be trusted around ambiguities.”

“Don’t do that!” she cried, “Don’t… don’t talk to me like I’m other people, like I’m someone else! I might not know you but I know you know me, don’t you dare pretend you don’t!”

“You summoned the Dark One,” he reminded her. “Your wish is my command.”

“Do you know how badly I wanted anyone else to show up?” she demanded. “How hard it was to even imagine you might have been lying this whole time, manipulating me?”

“When did I lie to you, Belle?”

“From the moment you introduced yourself as Lord Gold, and not Rumpelstiltskin,” she said, her chin raised in defiance.

“A name is only a name, dearie,” he said, but his voice had taken a gentler tone, something softer and more yielding than the sneering from before. “You are both Belle, and the Princess of Avonlea. Could I not be both Rumpelstiltskin and Lord Gold?”

She watched him move, the little dances of his fingers, and wondered at how he could be so different and yet so completely the same as the man she had known. Every movement was still elegant, graceful and practiced, but where Lord Gold had been smooth and restrained, Rumpelstiltskin was wild and frenetic, otherworldly.

“A lie of omission is still a lie,” she said, stoutly.

“And what would you have done, had I walked into your office some sunny morning, and told you that as well as being Avonlea’s largest landowner and collector of antiquities, I was in fact the physical embodiment of an ancient demon hell-bent on destruction and chaos? Are you telling me you wouldn’t have had me banished from your realm?”

“I was owed the chance to make that decision for myself,” Belle replied. “This is my realm. Given everything you’d done for me, the good we did together… I hope I would have given you a chance.”

“Are you certain of that?” Rumpelstiltskin asked. His eyes bored into hers. She nodded. “Then put down the knife.”

Belle’s grip on the dagger wavered, loosened… then tightened again. She held it to her side. She neither raised nor dropped it.

“How did you come to Avonlea?” she asked. “You owe me that answer now.”

“Your father summoned me,” he told her, with another of those giddy, unsettling little movements. He circled her, rested his chin on her shoulder; she shivered at his voice in her ear. “Help, help, we’re dying, can you save us?” his voice was high with mimicry; in the corner of her eye, she could see his mocking smile. “There was no firstborn in sight, no gold in the coffers, nothing to offer in exchange but the land itself. My price was ownership of all the fertile farmland and forest in Avonlea.”

“And in exchange, you beat back the ogres?”

“Oh no,” he purred, and she shivered again, a sensation both unsettling and strangely exciting. “I destroyed them,” he whispered, and bared his teeth. She flinched; he giggled, and danced away.

“Then were is the contract?” she demanded, turning to face him head-on once more. He tilted his head to one side.

“You mean the pages of leases you so carefully examined weren’t sufficient?” he asked, his finger tapping his chin as if flummoxed by the very idea. “Ah, yes,” he flicked his finger upright, struck by a thought. His theatricality was unnerving, and yet she couldn’t look away. “There may have been one page missing.”

He bared his hand into a fist, and a scroll appeared in his grasp. He shook it out, and it flew down, exposing a long roll of script. He held it out, one hand at the top and the other at the bottom. Belle read as fast as she could.

“A thousand years of ownership, in exchange for the kingdom returned to its pre-war state,” she murmured. “And the total annihilation of the ogre army.”

Rumpelstiltskin gave another of those little giggles. “That’s about the size of it,” he said.

“Then why stay?” Belle asked, frowning. “If the land was just… just a last resort, the only thing my father had to offer, why do you care?”

It was odd: she thought he was a little impressed with the question. His eyebrows did the same thing Lord Gold’s had, when she did something particularly clever. “The forest contains something very… precious to me,” he said, softly. “The war threatened it. The Council’s expansive ambitions threatened it. Your father’s sudden death, and the coronation of an unknown party threatened it.”

“What is it?” she asked. He tilted his head to the side.

“Is it so important you know?” he asked. She raised her chin.

“What is it, Rumpelstiltskin?”

“Is it important enough to force me to tell you?” he asked. She felt herself falter, waver. She shook her head. “Then put down the knife.”

Belle’s grip on the dagger trembled again. She wondered what he would do if she dropped it. What if once the dagger was returned, he turned on her, and she had no means to defend herself? What if his dark arts could enthral her, and she became a puppet ruler, controlled by the Dark One?

He had saved her kingdom. He had danced with her, laughed with her, walked and talked and shared his mind with her. He had made her fall in love with him. If he were still that man, surely he wouldn’t hurt her now, out of spite?

“Was any of it real?” she asked, her voice shaking, barely above a whisper.

“Any of what, Belle?” he asked. His voice sounded lower, softer, more familiar. It broke her heart.

“Our partnership,” she said. “You were my friend, I thought we trusted each other.”

“Then why didn’t you come to me, and ask me if what you’d heard was true?” he asked.

“Why didn’t you come to me, and tell me the truth?” she countered.

“Do you want the answer?” he asked, and she swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of his presence as he came closer, and closer yet. She looked into his eyes, those strange, opaque eyes… and all of a sudden, she knew him. He had the same expression he’d worn when they’d danced, the same intensity, the ambivalence. His face was the same, save the shimmering skin, and she could learn to love that, too. The same man looked out at her from behind those eyes, and she couldn’t look away.

She nodded.

“Then drop the knife,” he whispered, his words a breath against her mouth. She felt the dagger slip from her grip, heard it clatter on the floor. She knew him. She trusted him. He would not hurt her.

He was breathing hard; so was she. Her heart thundered in her chest. His mouth still looked the same: just as soft, just as warm.

She leaned up on her tiptoes, and on impulse she took the lapels of his stiff jacket in her hands and pressed her mouth to his. It was a soft kiss, gentle and warm, a sweet press of his lips to hers entirely at odds with their heated words from before. It felt like a continuation of their dance, like time had looped around and returned them to that place where his thumb had traced her lips, and the world had stood still.

He coaxed her lips open with his, and Belle moaned when his tongue touched hers. It was nothing like when Gaston, the rare times he’d been given the chance, had shoved his meaty tongue into her mouth and almost choked her. Rumpelstiltskin, Gold, whoever he was, kissed with the same delicacy and deliberation he brought to everything else he did. The tip of his tongue danced over her lips, played with the tip of hers, stroking and dipping as his lips caressed hers. Belle felt her knees give out, her body melting against his as he held her close against him, his arm coming around her waist, his hand tangling in her hair.

Belle moaned, and slid her hands from his collar up and around his neck, into the springy locks of his hair, and he hissed when her nails bit into his scalp.

This couldn’t last: Lord George would never allow him to remain in the castle now that the truth was known, and she had no doubt that if he had had the knife, he had other proof as well. Lord Gold could never return as Chancellor, so long as Lord George breathed. He would have to leave. She would have to continue on without him. Certainly any wistful fantasy she might have had about marrying him was out of the question, if she intended to keep her throne.

She kissed him deeper, more desperately at that thought. She was running out of breath, but she couldn’t imagine pulling away, parting from him, being forced to deal with the fallout of whatever they were doing now.

It felt so right, his mouth against hers, their bodies pressed tight.

Eventually, she did have to pull back for breath. He didn’t try to speak, didn’t make her think about what they’d done, what she hoped they would keep doing. Instead, he began to kiss along her cheek, down her jaw. He nibbled with sharp teeth at the corner of her jawbone, making her jump and whimper, a shot of sensation shooting straight down her spine. He kissed down her throat, along her collarbone, exposed by her simple white blouse.

Belle stepped back, and back again, pulling him with her as she found one of the long study tables, so she could brace herself and not have to think about staying upright. When his mouth found her pulse point, her forward thinking paid off. Her knees wobbled and melted again, and when he felt her tremble he lifted her with one hand under her backside, so she was sitting on the table.

She felt his harsh breath on her throat, and she swallowed hard. She pulled his head up with her hand in his hair, and rested her forehead against his.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she breathed him in, enjoying his closeness however it came. He didn’t look like he should. He wasn’t the man he ought to be. She had thought – perhaps hoped – that once she had learned the truth she would forget her feelings for him, and regain the objectivity Lord George had accused her of losing. But he was still the man she knew, somewhere inside. She had always known he was a mystery: somehow, this only created new layers to uncover.

“You shouldn’t have lied to me,” she whispered. His low exhale brushed against her lips and made her tremble.

“I’m sorry, Belle,” he replied. “The darkness is who I am. I never intended to know you. I never intended…”

He trailed off, but Belle understood. She nodded, swallowing around a lump in her throat. She didn’t want to cry now. For now, she wanted to enjoy whatever this was.

“Kiss me again?” she asked. There were so many questions that needed answers, so many things to be said, but right then Belle thought she might die if she couldn’t kiss him.

He nodded, and returned his mouth to hers, kissing her for long moments until her heart was racing and her bones were liquid. Her legs had wrapped themselves around his waist of their own accord, so he was holding her tight, every inch of his body pressed to hers.

His mouth slipped from her mouth again, and worked down the other side of her face and neck, pushing the barrier of her blouse aside so he could kiss along her shoulder too, lavishing every inch of skin he could find with his mouth.

Belle’s fingers shook, but they found their way to the stays of her bodice. She wanted him to touch her all over, her skin all but shivering with desire for him. If she could never marry him, if she would have to spend forever alone or with someone else, someone she couldn’t possibly love the way she loved him, then she would have this one night. He owed her that much. She needed that much.

He pulled back and gaped at her as she opened her bodice, revealing the sheer blouse beneath. The bodice had enough corsetry in it that for days spent alone in the library, she had little need of other supports. She had not considered until now how transparent the blouse was, how much of her was exposed through the thin linen. She blushed with embarrassment when she saw his eyes drift lower, watched his throat bob as he gulped at what he could see. Her nipples had hardened to rosy peaks, clearly visible through the fabric.

Belle lifted her arms to cover herself, but Rumpelstiltskin caught her arm with the lightest touch. “Please?” he murmured. He sounded like himself again, that low rolling brogue she loved so much. He sounded wrecked, desperate. She nodded, and lowered her arm.

Gently, his thumbs rubbed over those little points, sending sensation racing through Belle’s whole body. She gasped, her head arching back, her whole body pulled tight and taut as a bowstring. His hands gently squeezed and massaged her breasts, and Belle felt her breaths growing quick and shallow, her whole body heating with pleasure and sensation, an odd, thick heat pooling between her legs. She suddenly, desperately needed him to touch her there, too. She needed to feel him everywhere.

“Please, Rumple…” she sighed, unable to finish the rest of his name. It seemed a good compromise, all things considered: not the name of the twittering demon, but also not the human lie he had spun her in the past month. Something in between the beast and the man was the person before her. The person she loved.

He nodded, and his hands left her chest, coming to push and tug at her skirts, lifting the fabric up her knees and letting it puddle around her hips. It was Belle who took the final step, and pulled her pantaloons down to her ankles, kicking them free so they fell to the floor in a little white heap.

The cool air on her exposed skin suddenly brought her back to reality, to how open and vulnerable she currently was. She blushed all over, and pulled back, trying to regroup. “Belle?” his voice came to her, and her eyes blinked up into his.

What she saw there comforted her more than she could say. His eyes were full of concern, no hint of his former malice or of his guarded care from before. He looked like he would die if she stubbed her toe, like he wanted to protect her from everything and anything that came her way. He looked like he loved her. She wondered if he knew than she loved him too.

“I love you,” she said, softly. “It doesn’t change anything, but I do.”

Her eyes dropped from his, her bravery not holding out to watch the expression on his face.

“Oh Belle,” he murmured, and lifted her face, kissing her again, reigniting the banked fires within her. He kissed her again, again, until she was breathless and shivering again, although she was hardly cold. She was burning up, in fact, afraid she might well combust before this was over.

She wrapped her legs back around him, and moaned into his mouth when she felt the hard bulge between his legs, encased by his leather trousers, pressing against her sensitive flesh. She was so ready for him, embarrassingly wet and ready. She had never felt this way before, and hoped he didn’t mind, hoped he wouldn’t think her wanton for needing him so badly. It wasn’t her fault: she had been lost the moment she’d first looked into his eyes, whatever their colour, green-grey or brown, it didn’t matter.

“Are you sure?” he murmured, and she nodded.

“Please, Rumple,” she moaned, “Please.”

He nodded, dazed and lost for words. She felt a ripple, a tingle, a shiver of something alien and strange, and then the leather was gone, the stays of his breeches untying themselves and exposing him. Suddenly Belle could feel hard flesh pressing between her legs, and then it was accompanied by dextrous fingers, brushing over her, slipping into her folds and over a sensitive place at the apex, that made her cry out when it was touched directly.

“You really want this?” he murmured, frowning. She kissed his forehead, the little line between his eyebrows; she had always wanted to.

“Yes,” she whispered.

His fingers withdrew from her, and then she felt him, his member, the broad head pressing against her entrance. It hurt when he pushed it a little way inside, and she cried out, tensing up. Rumple’s fingers returned to her, and there was another ripple of that odd sensation, not quite pleasurable, not quite unpleasant. Then he was pushing in again, and this time it felt good, no pain at all, and she felt him fill her, their joining so perfect it made her arch her back and moan aloud.

When he was inside as far as he could go, he stopped, and his forehead rocked forward again to rest against hers. Their breaths met between them, and it was like their dance, like their conversations, like every moment they’d ever spent together encapsulated into a single second. She had never felt more connected to another person in her life, and Belle felt both rooted and set free.

Then he shifted out a little and pushed back inside, and his fingers were back at it between her legs, and everything was liquid and heat, pleasure and sensation, sparks up her spine and shivers across her skin. She gasped and keened, rocking in time with his movements, and his mouth was everywhere, open and kissing her throat, her cheeks, and finally her mouth, a kiss both messy and perfect, searing her soul.

His fingers twisted and pinched, and suddenly she exploded, the tension coiling at the base of her spine bursting into a thousand sparks, her whole body set alight. She moaned and whimpered, clinging to him with every muscle, her inner walls clenching around him as he continued to thrust within her. She felt him tense a moment later, as she was descending from her high, and he buried his face in her throat with a low groan as he released inside her. She petted his springy hair – she could grow used to it, although she missed the softness of before – and he clung to her, shaking as hard as she was.

For a perfect moment, it was as if nothing in the world, not even his lies or her duties, her kingdom or his dark curse, could hurt them. Belle wished she could live in it forever.

Then he had stepped back, withdrawn from her. Another ripple of magic had their clothes set to rights, and Belle felt suddenly cold, lonelier than she had ever been in her life.

“Goodbye, Belle,” he said. Then, in a swirl of purple smoke, he was gone, and the dagger on the floor with him.


	6. Chapter 6

_One month later_

Lord George had what he wanted: his rival was banished, and as the only man who wanted the job, he was installed once again as Chancellor.

He was competent: Belle would give him that. But he was domineering, and poor company, and ran roughshod over her in every Council meeting. Things returned to how she remembered them being under her father: with a ruler on the throne, but the real power rested in Lord George’s Chancellor’s office.

The leases binding the land in Lord Gold’s name were still valid at least, so he couldn’t claim all of that for his own, too. The man himself, the story went, had gone home to the Frontlands to help the war effort.

Belle was bereft.

She didn’t want to mourn him. He was a liar, and he’d never told her half of what she needed to know. They’d made love in the library, and she was certain he loved her too, but then he’d vanished.

Belle was starting to realise that what she’d enjoyed about ruling Avonlea wasn’t the power, or the politics, or even love of the land. She’d only lived here for a portion of her childhood, and while she knew the people cared for her, they were equally loyal to the Council, and especially Lord George. She was a young woman who had come to her maturity somewhere far away. She had never intended to inherit; no one had expected her to.

Sometimes – often – she thought on what Rumple had said to her, the day before the ball. If George wanted the throne so badly, why not let him have it?

She was stood in the garden when that thought occurred to her again. Since Lord George’s return to power, she had a lot of time to walk in the gardens, to sew, to read, to do anything but rule her lands. She supposed she should be thankful that she didn’t have to marry; Lord George already had what he wanted. She could appoint or adopt an heir, find a distant cousin to inherit. She didn’t think she could have borne the touch of another man, after she knew what it felt like to be with the man she loved.

She was watching the gardeners tend the flowerbeds – even they were allowed to do their work in peace – when she heard Ruby calling her name.

“Belle!” the other woman all but tumbled out of the doors and onto the balcony, and caught Belle’s arm. “Belle!”

“What, what is it?”

“They need you in the throne room!” Ruby cried, breathlessly. “The Lord Chancellor has an announcement!”

Belle frowned: Lord George only had need of her signature or her silence. Whatever he wanted now, she was sure he could accomplish alone. But then, he took a perverse joy in making her sit and bear witness to his us of her power. Everything he did, by his own design, was under her name.

“What is it?” Belle asked, as Ruby led her by the hand through the palace. Ruby shook her head.

“He won’t say,” she said. “He just said you were needed.”

Belle was only more confused, but followed Ruby all the same. They reached the throne room, and Leroy announced her with an odd smile on his face. He knew something about what was about to happen, but Belle had no time to ask what.

“Her Royal Highness, Belle, Princess of Avonlea!” Leroy announced, and Belle stepped through the doors and along the podium. Everyone in the chamber stood in respect. She gestured for them to sit as she took her place on the throne.

“Please, sit down,” she said. “Now, Lord Chancellor,” she turned to Lord George, standing uncomfortably before the throne. Usually he dominated proceedings from his chair to her right, crowding her, giving the impression of equal footing. “What is this about?”

“Now that your highness is here, I can present this document to your highness,” Lord George looked as if there was a knife in his kidneys, as if every word was acid, but he shoved a scroll in her direction.

Since when did Lord George use scrolls?

Belle unwound it, puzzled beyond belief. “…My Lord Chancellor, is this what it appears to be?”

“It is my resignation from courtly life, your highness,” he managed, through a heavy grimace. “I have decided to spend my days with my family. Our family seat is in the Marchlands. I have a desire to be in the mountains.”

  
“I see,” Belle couldn’t believe what she was hearing, what she was reading. The document in her hands was watertight: Lord George officially abdicated his position, and the claims of his whole family to any part of Avonlea. “You will be a loss to the realm, my Lord,” she lied, fighting to keep a smile from her lips. She had a suspicion as to what was really behind this. Who was really behind it.

She would find out that night, she supposed.

“First Lord Gold, now you,” she continued. “My Chancellors are dropping like flies.”

“Dame Lucas has kindly offered to take my place,” he managed. The way his nostrils had flared, his eyes hardening at the name of his predecessor told Belle all she needed to know.

“Thank you, Dame Lucas,” she said, smiling to the older woman in her seat along the podium. Dame Lucas inclined her head, and went back to her knitting.

“You will be greatly missed,” Belle lied. “Your service to this realm will not be forgotten.”

Lord George looked as if he wanted to say something. Then he looked out at the crowd, and whatever he saw made him think twice. Belle followed his gaze: all she could see in his direct line of sight was an older woman with dark hair streaked with grey, shaking her head with a placid smile. She didn’t recognise the woman, but Lord George clearly did.

“Farewell, your highness,” he said, with the shallowest bow Belle had ever seen. He stormed from the room without another word. The door slammed behind him.

\---

Belle stood in her bedroom, and took a deep breath.

This time she had brought no book, no summoning stones, no dagger. She stood alone, in the middle of the night, the servants sent to bed and the castle quiet, and her call was not a scream but a soft, quiet plea.

“Rumpelstiltskin, I summon thee.”

This time, the whistle of the wind was not a slap in the face but a sigh, an exhalation of held breath. He was standing by her window, right in front of her.

“I need the whole story,” she said, before he could speak. She held her thin robe tighter about her, her arms folded to keep from running to him, kissing him, so grateful was she to see him again. His hair looked soft again, his scales muted, and he’d forgone the stiff dragonhide jacket. He came before her in a waistcoat and silk shirt: the most casual she had ever seen him. He looked handsome in the candlelight. She had known she could get used to it.

“The story, dearie?”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Lord George just happened to resign today,” she said. “Out of nowhere, apropos of nothing, at the moment of his victory, he walked away. Why would he do that?”

“Who knows why men do what they do?” Rumple asked, spreading his hands with a shrug. “Perhaps it was something he ate.” He wrinkled his nose, his voice high and strange. Even that, she could get used to. His pantomiming was as funny as it was unsettling.

“It wasn’t something he ate,” she shook her head, catching herself smiling. Even now, with an expanse of empty air between them, seeing him again felt more like home than the past month in her castle without him. He was so familiar: the shape of his jaw, the long angle of his nose, the soft springy hair and slender frame, the smile on his lips. She’d missed him more than she could say.

He took a step toward her, and she leaned closer almost without thinking. “What is your hypothesis then, dearie? A knock on the head?”

“Nope,” she grinned, and popped the ‘p’. “I think you happened to him.”

“I, good lady?” he asked, pressing a hand to his chest, his mouth opening in shock. “Perish the thought!”

She laughed at his antics, and she saw his eyes brighten. There was gentleness to his mockery now, affection instead of malice. She rather liked it. He hadn’t been so different as Lord Gold, after all.

“He told me once you’d made a deal with him, long ago. I need you to tell me what you did.”

“Why?” he asked. “Why not simply remain innocent?”

“Rumple, stop it,” she said, firmly. “I need to know. You know I do.”

It was incredible the effect her words had, even without the control of his dagger. He rolled his eyes, “Well, if you insist.”

He gestured for her to sit on the edge of the bed, and took a deep breath. “Once upon a time, there was a Lord who had everything, everything he could desire, power, honour, money, land… but no sons. And then, in a village not far from here, there was a farmer who had nothing… except he had two sons. You see where I’m going with this?”

Belle pursed her lips. “You sold one of the farmer’s sons to Lord George?” she asked. He tilted his head to one side.

“I facilitated an adoption, your highness,” he corrected, a little snidely. “In return for which, the Lord got in the way of a merger of kingdoms some way from here that benefitted me, and the farmer was greatly compensated. All was well, until the careless bastard the Lord raised was murdered by an ogre during a foolish raid-“

“But James is still alive,” Belle objected, “He’s-“ she stopped, the pieces falling together. Rumple made a gesture with his hand, imitating the penny dropping. She threw a cushion at him. “He’s the other son, isn’t he?” she said.

“Clever girl,” he grinned, and tapped her nose with one finger. Even that slight, teasing touch made her shiver. She hoped he wouldn’t leave without more of those lovely kisses, once she had her answers. “The farmer had died, terrible shame, and his wife was at risk of losing their home. The son agreed to the charade for his mother’s sake. Very noble young man, that one: some might call him charming.”

“The mother is an older woman with dark hair with grey streaks, a flat nose and an open face,” Belle said. Rumple stopped still, and tilted his head.

“You saw her this afternoon,” he murmured, and she watched as he ran his eyes appreciatively over her, as if he’d only just noticed her state of relative undress, clad only in her nightgown. “Very clever girl.”

Belle shivered again, and felt that heat beginning to build low in her belly. His gaze was almost physical, and slipped over her like a caress.

“So… what, you threatened to expose Lord George?” she asked. He grinned.

“His James is the pride of the family, even if now his real name is David. He married above his station, Snow’s closer to royalty than you are, and he’s a war hero to boot. His reputation would be marred forever, if it were revealed he traded in stolen babies with a demon to achieve such glory.”

“I thought you said it was an adoption,” Belle’s eyes narrowed, and Rumple’s smile gleamed.

“All a matter of your point of view, sweetheart,” he said. Oh, she liked when he called her that.

“Why do that?” she asked, shaking her head. “Your land was secure, the leases are still watertight. Even if he’d wanted to destroy whatever you need in the forest, he wouldn’t risk offending you.” She tilted her head to one side, her curiosity returning. “What was that, by the way? I can make sure it’s protected as Avonlea’s Princess.”

He sighed, as if he’d finally run out of reasons to avoid the question. “A tree,” he said, simply. “A tree that will one day become a very special piece of furniture.”

“You did all this… for a tree?” Belle blinked.

“It has magical properties,” he told her. “As will the wardrobe that will be created from it.”

Belle blinked. “You drove out Lord George, manipulated two families and a whole realm, for a tree?”

He looked at her, frowning, his head tilted. “Were you happy with him as Chancellor, Belle?” he asked. She laughed.

“I don’t know, are birds happy in cages?”

He didn’t reply. She looked at him, really looked at him, and blinked in disbelief. “You did all of this for me,” she said, softly. She’d thought it, hoped for it, but hadn’t really believed until now. “You… you banished him for me.”

“You’re a good ruler, Belle,” he fidgeted with his fingers, uneasy and restless. “You deserve a chance to do it right. And it only seems fair that young David be reunited with his mother.”

“You did it for me,” she said, biting the inside of her lip. She looked up at him, and if she’d had any doubt that she loved him, or that he loved her, they were no more. “I love you, Rumple.”

His eyes met hers, sheepish and hopeful, an odd expression on such a face. “I love you too, Belle,” he said, so softly she almost didn’t catch it.

She rose from the bed, and stepped into his arms. When he kissed her, she swore she could fly.


End file.
